From Ages Past
by Ardin
Summary: Someone or something is killing vampires throughout LA. Does Angel need to be worried and does the mysterious woman who just showed up at Angel investigations have anything to do with it?
1. Chapter One

**From Ages Past** By Ardin

**Disclaimer:** Shocker, I don't own any part of Angel. It belongs to Joss Whedon and company.

**When: **This is set sometime during Season Three just because that's as far as I've actually gotten, but it's totally AU so it really doesn't matter where in the series you shove it. The AU stuff is: No Connor, so Wesley is still a member of the team. Cordelia has become part demon to deal with the visions, but has not gone all ascended.

**A/N: **Normally I don't write Angel stuff, but I was given a request for a piece from my niece and then my muse hit me with a story idea and here it is. So, this is for Laura, on the eve of her 14th birthday.

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**Chapter One**

Raised voices rang through the air, disturbing the silence that had, just previously, pervaded the halls of the old hotel.

"So, what you're saying to me is that, after six weeks of research, all we know about this new player is…" Angel paused, glancing pointedly back and forth at the rest of his gathered team, "Nothing. We know nothing, except that they, whoever they are, seems to be systematically wiping out every vampire nest in the city." The frustration in his tone was obvious and the others could do little more than offer up helpless shrugs in the wake of his rant.

Silence reigned again for a few moments before Gunn's voice broke it. "I don't get why we even care. Whoever, or whatever, this thing is, it's doing our job for us, so why don't we just stay out of its way?"

"It's not that I have any warm and fuzzy feelings for the blood-sucking, murderous elements of this city, but something out there is hunting vampires. And seeing as one of my best friends is one, I'd kinda like to know what it is and what its motivation is." Cordelia's matter-of-fact tone came from behind the main desk, where she was bent over an old text. "Besides," she continued, looking up, "It's not like we have any other pressing cases to work on."

Angel gave her a slight grin before speaking. "As much as I appreciate that you don't want me dead, I'm thinking that you'll need to change your mind about that whole no case thing." As he finished speaking he raised an arm to point towards the doorway.

The others followed his gaze to the young woman who stood on the entry landing, hand still holding onto the door, baggy jeans and sweatshirt hanging off her lean frame. She let go of the door, allowing it to shut behind her, and moved down the stairs. Her motions were slow and cautious.

Angel watched her with distinct curiosity painted on his features. Despite his fantastic senses, he hadn't heard her entry; instead it was the smell of blood, which he noticed was dripping steadily from beneath her sweatshirt and down her fingers. There was something else about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but which intrigued him all the same.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs and, after a measured gaze at each of them, she turned her attention to Angel, apparently uninterested in the rest of the group. She stayed silent, her eyes fixed on his face until Lorne spoke up.

"Welcome to Angel Investigations, hun." He moved toward her with a smile, taking her disinterest in his green features as acceptance of them. "How about you come on in and we can take care of that bleeding thing you've got going on while you tell us why you're here." He gestured toward the chair in the lobby despite the fact that her gaze remained steadily on Angel.

She didn't move, but spoke in response to his comment, her voice strong and even. "I don't know why I'm here." She glanced down her arm at the small pool of blood that had formed on the floor. Angel felt a pang of disappointment at their sudden lack of eye contact, but smiled at her next words and actions. "I'm sorry about the blood, I didn't realize…" She bent her elbow so that her fingers no longer pointed at the ground. Glancing at Lorne, she gave him an apologetic smile. "I can clean that up."

"Don't worry about it, sugar. It happens more often than you'd think. Just come on over here and we'll take a look at whatever is causing the blood in the first place, huh?" With a hand not quite touching her elbow he led her to the chair in the center of the lobby. Without prompting she began to remove the sweatshirt, moving her bleeding left arm as little as possible in the process.

As Cordelia moved forward to tend to their injured guest, Angel, Wesley and Gunn did their best not to stare since the removal of the sweatshirt had left her standing in the lobby in jeans and a black sports bra. Continuing to stand despite the offered seat, the woman, whom Wesley guessed was probably in her early to mid-twenties, offered her arm to Cordy, who moved to stand just behind her to get fully to the wound. For a moment Angel noticed she stiffened while looking at the other woman's back and he thought that her gaze shot up to his for just a second. Not wanting to distract her from her task, he resolved to ask her about it later.

Everything was silent for several minutes until the wound had been covered and her sweatshirt restored. Only then did anyone attempt to restart the conversation that had been started earlier.

"Hi, I'm Fred." The woman in question's voice was gentle as she stepped out from behind the main desk. "I don't mean to be all prying and everything, but what do you mean you don't know why you're here?"

"I mean I don't know. I had been exploring the city – I've never been here before – and then there was a man with a knife who wanted my money. That's how my arm was cut. Then I was walking again and I saw this building and felt I should come in." Her tone was even despite the rather clipped flow of her sentences. It was as if she just didn't want to speak rather than an inability to do so properly.

"You felt that you should come in? Want to expand on that? Why would you feel like that?" Gunn's questions were abrupt and he was beginning to look at her suspiciously.

The young woman didn't seem particularly unhappy with what was starting to seem very much like an interrogation. Shrugging, she shifted her gaze from Fred to Gunn. "I felt like I should come in because they wanted me to."

Angel's heart sank as he realized that their as yet unnamed guest might be little more than a homeless person hearing voices. Worried that he would seriously regret doing so, he asked the question that they were all thinking: "Who wanted you to?"

Her gaze once again shifted back to his and their eyes locked for several long moments before she answered him.

"The Powers That Be."

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**A/N:** I'm hoping to update this alot faster than some of my other stories. My muse has been kinda slow recently, but seems to be going to town on this idea. I have no idea how long it will be, but I'll keep writing until it's done. Please let me know what you thought.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"The Powers?" Cordelia's voice broke through the poignant silence that had settled over the hotel lobby. "You're in contact with The Powers That Be?"

"I wouldn't really call it contact..." her voice trailed off, brow furrowed in concentration. Angel took the opportunity to really study the woman.

Despite the baggy clothes, which did litttle to emphasize or enhance her looks, she was quite beautiful. Long, wavy brown hair was tied into a tight braid which hung most of the way down her back and contrasted with large, bright, blue eyes. The momentary exposure of her almost bare torso had shown off defined muscles and unscarred flesh. His detailed examination was cut off by her eyes meeting his as she began to speak again.

"I suppose that the best way of explaining it is that The Powers are in contact with me, but not the other way around. I get feelings, urges to do things. Like when I was walking by and had the sudden and uncompromising desire to come in. That sort of thing. It's not all the time. Just every once in a while and they don't go away until I follow through on them. Of course generally the desire is so strong that I can't not follow through." She glanced around at them, taking in the skeptical faces on everyone except Angel. She shrugged helplessly. "Its hard to explain."

Lorne took that as his cue to once again step forward. "That's okay, hun. Like the blood, it happens more often than you think."

"Right." Angel looked thankfully at the demon, happy to have something other than his inexplicable interest in the woman to focus on. "For the moment we'll assume that either The Powers want you to help us or the other way around. Maybe both."

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, fully aware that both options could be dangerously off. She gave him the slightest of nods, as though acknowledging his right to be suspicious. Their eyes locked once again as she raised her head and he felt another stab of interest go through him.

Cordelia's voice broke them from their joint stare as she suggested that perhaps their new guest would like a place to sleep for a few hours. The young woman gratefully excepted, breaking her gaze from Angel's to follow Cordy up the staircase.

A sudden surge of chivalry shot through the vampire as he watched the two women ascend the steps and his voice rang out before he could even think of what he was doing. "Sleep well, Ms..."

She paused mid-step and turned back, this time not meeting his eyes. "Guinevere. Just Guinevere."

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"Lorne, did you get a read from her?" Angel kept his voice low as he turned to the demon.

The team had congregated in the office to discuss the latest development. Cordelia had not yet returned from showing their guest to a room and Angel waited anxiously for her return, curious about what had spooked her so much earlier.

"Not really, I'm afraid. There is definitely something off with her, but I can't really figure out what it is." He shrugged the shoulders of his well-tailored suit. "It might just be her connection with The Powers that is throwing me off, but I really won't know more unless you get her to sing and she doesn't really seem the type."

Gunn stepped away from the desk he had been leaning against, his voice ringing through the small room as he made very little effort to stick to the lower volume his comrades had used. "We keep talking as if we knew for sure that she was connected to The Powers. Has anyone besides me considered that this all might just be some huge trap Wolfram Hart are walking us right into?"

"Of course we've considered the possibility, but until we have some kind of proof one way or another, I'd rather keep her where we can keep an eye on her." Wesley chimed in. His comment was met by nods from all sides and an uncertain silence fell over the group for a few moments. Gunn was opening his mouth to speak again when Cordy's noisy entrance cut him off.

She banged the door open forcefully, apparently unaware or uncaring of the door slamming into the wall, damaging the paint slightly. For a long moment she stared fixedly at Angel, an expression of confused horror painted on her features. When she spoke her voice was quiet and upset.

"Where and when did you get your tattoo?"

"What the hell does his tattoo have to do with anything?" Gunn looked questioningly from Cordelia to Angel, hoping that someone would explain something about what was going on. Angel continued to watch Cordy in silence, until his name, yelled loudly, brought him out of his reverie.

"Cardfiff, 1908. Why?" The response was quick and sure despite the confusion still evident on his face. Cordelia was about to respond when Wesley interjected.

"Cardiff? The Watcher Diaries don't have you leaving America anytime between 1902 and 1943." The British man's tone was offended, though by Angel or the apparent inaccuracies of the Diaries was unclean.

Angel held back a snarky remark about the Diaries and instead turned back to Cordelia. "I was on my way to London to watch the Olympics. The design caught my eye and the artist's tale of its history appealed to me."

Fred's voice came from where she sat in the corner. "History?"

"The griffin represents the dichotomy of man. Two sides of humanity. According to the artist the specific design was worn by the Knights of the Round Table during Arthur's reign. Represented the duality of warriors as peacemakers. Two faces, both extreme opposites, but still capable of being noble and good. The idea appealed to me." He shrugged, slightly embarressed by the rather unchracteristic speech. "Now will you please tell me why this matters?"

Cordelia gazed at him for another moment, taking in what he'd just said. It made sense; that he would be drawn to the design. A vampire with a soul, probably the most extreme case ever of duality. The artist's story had obviously given him hope that despite the demon in him he could still do good. Sighing, she answered his question.

"She has the same one. Same location, same design. Exact, right down to the letter A clutched in the griffin's claws."

**TBC**

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**A/N:** Hope that everyone liked, let me know wht you thought. For those interested: the griffin as ensignia for the Knights has been attributed to the court at Camelot by a number of authors, though the reasons why vary from story to story, author to author. I've wanted to write that into a story ever since the first season Buffy episode where we first saw Angel's tat.


	3. Interlude One

**Whitechapel, London, England**

**1888**

Her skirts rustle slightly in the cool breeze of the London night and she makes her way carefully down the alleyway, ever watchful of puddles and other pathway obstacles. She knows that she probably shouldn't be out at all, the streets not safe for women at this hour on the best of days and certainly not with the brutal murders that have taken place in the last few days.

But she cannot help it. A quiet feeling in the back of her conscious mind drives her forward - a miniscule voice that all but growls unhappily any time she even considers turning back - and so she continues further on, every step taking her further from her normal travels through the city. The alley she is in now she has never before seen and she has only the slightest inclination as to where in the vastness of London she even is, but the desire to continue forward does not leave her and she moves ever onward.

There is very little fear in either her mind or her movements. This is hardly the first time she has been drawn inexplicably into the unknown and she has never yet come to harm and she has no reason to believe that tonight will be different.

She turns a corner and caches sight of the first person she has seen since she left the main road nearly an hour previous. And as suddenly as the compulsion to take a walk had hit her, it disappears. Nothing now drives her forward and she is sure that the man in front of her, not yet aware of her presence, is the reason for her night time stroll.

She moves silently behind him, trying to figure out what her purpose in this place is. Is she merely supposed to meet him or must she aid him in some way? Or perhaps neither? Not for the first time, she wishes that these strange compulsions would come with instructions of some kind.

They have been walking several minutes before the buildings around them open a little to allow moonlight in and she realizes exactly what is going on. Much as she is stalking the man before her, he is also following someone: a woman, her dress dirty, but whole and her walk that of one who has reached the end of a very long day. She is slowing at every step, apparently unaware of the pair that trail behind.

Her own feet have begun to hurt in their awkward heels and she briefly sympathizes with the other woman. Her empathy is cut short as she suddenly becomes very much aware of the reasons why her mind sent her out into the cold night. She is not here to befriend the man or aid him in anyway, but rather to stop him. For he is no longer merely a shape and movement in the darkness to her, but instead has a very clear purpose and a name - not an actual name, but the one the police have given him.

Jack the Ripper.

He is within striking distance of his prey when her voice rings loud and clear through the night.

"Run!"

He turns abruptly in his tracks, seeking out the sound that has interrupted his hunt. The woman he has followed shows no such hesitation, barely glancing over her shoulder before bolting into the night, her legs carrying her far from London's night time killer.

He watches the other flee for only a few moments before turning to his new quarry with a hiss.

"One whore is just as good as any other I suppose."

They are only steps apart and he shifts his weight slightly, preparing to strike, a knife already visible in his hand. She waits for his attack and smiles predatorily when it comes.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

_"She has the same one. Same location, same design. Exact, right down to the letter A clutched in the griffin's claws."_

Gunn's voice broke through the silence that had taken hold of the group at Cordelia's pronouncement, "So what? It's just a tattoo; tons of people could have the same one. Especially if the design has been around that long."

Wesley took a step forward, his eyes moving from Cordelia's questioning expression to Angel's stone mask of shock and confusion. When he spoke, his words were quiet and thoughtful. "That is, of course, possible, but I find it to be a bit of an improbable coincidence. I mean, this woman, who claims to be sent by the Powers, has the exact same tattoo as Angel, who is a Champion for the Powers. If she is telling the truth then maybe their connection is why." He shook his head in agitation, "We should check out the possibilities before dismissing this." He turned sharply to Angel, the movement snapping the vampire out of his thoughts, "Angel, have you ever met this woman before?"

"No. No, I don't think so, but…" His voice trailed off for a moment before resuming in a surer, more confident tone, "but she seems familiar somehow. Like when you see someone you've met before, but can't figure out where from. But I can't remember ever meeting anyone like her before." He smiled slightly as he spoke his last sentence, his mind flashing back to the woman's confident manner and bright blue eyes, "I think I'd remember if I'd met her before."

Fred's voice brought him out of his rather dazed recollection and the team turned to where she stood, leaning against Angel's desk, "Ignoring, for the moment, the question of whether you've met her before or not…Angel you said the design was originally King Arthur's symbol?"

He nodded slowly wondering, as he often did with Fred's questions, just where her thinking was leading her.

"Okay, so does anyone else find it a little odd that she is tattooed with Arthur's mark and her name is Guinevere?"

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Two hours later the members of Angel Investigations were once again ranged around the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel. Their earlier conversation had been cut short by a telephone call and they had only just arrived back, everyone tired and cranky from an almost useless field trip to the outskirts of LA.

Their killer had struck again. This time a massive vampire nest, nearly 40 demons in all, had been efficiently wiped away. And they finally had a little more to go on then just no vampires where many had once been: an eyewitness account.

The woman had been scared silly, barely coherent as they spoke with her about what she'd heard and seen: screams, the commotion of a fight (corroborated by the massive amount of damage that had been done in the old warehouse the nest had been in), and a hulking figure leaving the scene.

"Well, if this is right, our baddy definitely isn't human." Fred's voice cut through Angel's musing. She had just spent 20 minutes culling through the audio tape of their eyewitness's statement. "At least 7 feet tall, furry and dark colored; either black or blue."

"Not exactly a lot, is it?" Gunn piped in tiredly from his place on the couch. Fred shrugged as she took a seat next to Cordelia behind the counter.

Angel stood up, moving away from the entrance where he'd been seated as he spoke, "Yeah, and since we were already looking into the demon angle there isn't much more we can do on that front for now." He paused, thinking for a moment, "On the other hand, our visitor…"

His voice was cut off by Lorne quietly finishing his sentence, "…is awake." The green demon gestured to the stairwell and the figure descending. Raising his volume he directed his next questions to the young woman, "Sleep well, hun? Feeling better?"

She didn't reply immediately, moving well into the lobby before smiling and giving him an answering nod. Angel was once again struck by the overwhelming impression that he knew her; the sense of familiarity bombarding him even as suspicions about her rolled through his brain. And while a part of him seriously considered that it might be a mistake, he decided that it was time to learn something about their mysterious guest.

"Who are you?" The question was out of his mouth before he could censor or modify it.

Her startled expression at his inquiry softened as Lorne shot him a reproachful glance before speaking, "You can understand our concern, surely. You show up out of the blue and claim to have contact with The Powers, how do we know this isn't a trick of some kind?"

Guinevere regarded the assembled company slowly, seeming to consider the request, and it was several moments later before she responded, her voice quiet and tinged with disappointment, "I'm not here to hurt any of you, but the answer to that question is complicated and I request that you hear me out before you pass judgment."

Nodding his head in agreement, Angel glanced at his companions, giving them each a silent command to keep calm until he gave a signal otherwise and then gestured for her to speak.

Settling herself on a nearby bench, she began, "My name is Guinevere of Leona, daughter of Gowen, Lord of Leona and I was born in the year 87 AD."

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**A/N: **Story Alerts are not the same thing as reviews. Reviews tell me specifically what you liked/didn't like about the story and perhaps give suggestions of the things you'd like to see. If I contiue to get Story Alerts, but no reviews for this story I will discontinue writing it.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"_My name is Guinevere of Leona, daughter of Gowen, Lord of Leona and I was born in the year 87 AD."_

She paused briefly, apparently expecting an outburst at this information despite their assurances that they would hear her out. When no one spoke, she gave a nod of thanks and continued.

"At the age of sixteen, I married Artour, King of Northern Britain, better known as Arthur of Camelot, and at twenty-one I died and rose as a vampire." Again she paused, this time to morph her features to that of the demon. The reaction throughout the lobby was instantaneous: Gunn was on his feet, crossbow in hand, in seconds; Fred and Cordelia ducked momentarily under the counter in front of them, returning quickly to view armed with crosses and stakes; Lorne and Wesley took several steps away from their guest, making a careful effort to get Angel between them and her.

Only Angel seemed unsurprised by the news. He watched Guinevere for several long moments before he spoke, his voice calm and unconcerned. "I knew there was something familiar about you, but I should have been able to sense the demon immediately."

She gave him a rueful smile before glancing around at the others, "You did promise to hear everything I had to say before passing judgment, as such I would appreciate it if you all stopped pointing weapons at me. Keep them at hand, if you wish, but I am not a threat to you," With a slight shake of her head, she relaxed back to her human face, "and I will not move until I have finished my story. If I do so, you have my entire permission to kill me."

Gunn moved forward a step, the crossbow still leveled at her chest, "I don't need your permission to-"

He was interrupted by Angel, "We agreed to listen and we will." He shot a glance at Gunn, who after a few seconds lowered the crossbow and once again sat on the couch. Turning back to Guinevere, he repeated his earlier statement, "I should have been able to sense what you were, why couldn't I?"

"For the same reason that you are occasionally not recognized for what you are." Apparently content with that as a response, she returned to her original story.

"The world was very different then; Christianity had yet to become a religious force in Europe and the predominant pagan forms of worship all accepted demons and other immortals as fact; allowing such creatures to roam the world much more freely. This was a time before the immortals which you refer to as The Powers That Be left our dimension and before the powerful ancient magics were lost.

"Now Artour was a powerful and well loved ruler of his people and, while such ridiculousness as the fortified city of Camelot and the equality glorifying Round Table never actually existed, he had at his command a vast army, large enough and magic enough to take on the legions of Rome had he so wished. And while he was hardly the larger-than-life figure that the romantics and poets have since made him out to be, Artour was, just as the stories say, a good and just leader and he believed that while demons, on the whole, were a bane to humanity he also believed that, just as some humans choose the path of evil, so too might some demons choose the path of good.

"While there are very few magics that will return a man possessed by a demon – like a vampire – to a fully mortal state, Artour felt that to be fully mortal was unnecessary if you could imbue such a creature with enough humanity. Say, for instance, the return of their soul.

"Working closely with his most trusted warlocks, the chief among them the man who would become know to the world as Merlin, Artour – who possessed powerful magic himself – created a spell that would reach into the Forever Realms, retrieve, and return the soul of one who had been transformed. The existence of the spell was then spread throughout the known world and it was made known that any who sought such a way of life – to live an immortal life, but be soul bound as well – could seek it from Artour.

"Within a year of the spell's creation Artour's ranks had swollen with an influx of the souled demons." She paused and smiled at Angel, whose face was contorted in shock. No one in the room moved as they waited for her to continue. "His greatest generals, the knights that would live on in histories and lore, were almost entirely demonkind. It was one of these, the warrior called Lancelot, who sired me and it was Artour himself who, within minutes of my awakening, returned my soul to me."

Her narrative was suddenly broken by Cordelia's voice, trembling with horror and confusion, "By why would he do that? Why would Lancelot change you?"

Guinevere seemed unperturbed by the interruption and turned to face Cordelia directly as she answered. "Because he loved me. And, despite his knowing that my heart belonged completely to Artour, he could not stand to see me die. So, when I was gravely injured during an enemy attack against Artour, Lancelot did the only thing he knew of to save me: he turned me. And, while I admit to some confusion and unhappiness when I first arose, I was not overly upset, nor was Artour. With my soul returned I was only slightly different from my human state and with the help of various magics, I was even able to spend short periods of time in the sun." Seeing Angel's look of hope, she gave a small shake of her head. "The knowledge of such magic has long been lost to this world and it has been more than twelve centuries since I walked in the daylight." For a moment, her eyes focused on nothing at all and a nostalgic expression crossed her face. Within moments it was gone, and she returned to her tale.

"I had already give birth to three sons, and so Artour had no need of another heir and as such kept me at his side, as his wife, until his death seven years later. Our eldest son took the throne and continued Artour's legacy of justice. I, and many of Artour's generals, felt that our time with the court had ended along with Artour and we left.

"Since that time I have been largely on my own. Occasionally my path will cross with that of one of the others – Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad still live – but for the most part I do not crave their company; they are reminders of a past long since gone. Nearly 1500 years ago the Powers That Be passed out of this world and I began my time in their service."

For many long minutes no one spoke. Each of the individuals in the room seemed to be working their way slowly through the mass of information they had just been given. It was Angel's quiet laughter that eventually broke the calm. Seeing the incredulous looks his colleagues were giving him, he shook his head briefly and spoke.

"There have been stories of good vampires around for as long as I have been alive, but I didn't actually think they were true. I figured they were created to calm frightened children or reassure families that had lost loved ones to the undead. But you're saying the stories are true?"

Guinevere smiled at him and nodded. "Yes, the stories are true. Several versions of the spell that Artour created have survived through the ages, including the one which returned your soul to you Angel, and the ranks of the souled have swelled through the years. We are still vastly outnumbered by the unsouled, but most of us have contact in one way or another with The Powers and that has long given us an advantage."

Angel opened his mouth to say something, but Gunn interrupted.

"How do we know you're telling the truth? For all we know you could be making all of this up just to get us to let down our guard. I don't care if Angel senses you're different, this could still be some massive trap."

Angel again started to speak and was once again interrupted, this time by Lorne.

"There is one way to know for sure." He watched Guinevere silently for a moment before continuing, "Would you sing for us, hun?"


End file.
